Saturday, November 5, 2005

traveller (a reclaiming)

So, we're just going to go ahead and gloss over some stuff here. Lost amongst the trees for two days after the ingestion of an unknown hallucinogen. Psilocybin, but more so. Not quite acid. Baby woodrose? Argyreia nervosa. Maybe. High, so high. Don't look down. Or do. A shaky walk over a rope bridge. Ropes stretched taut, cliff to cliff. Fray, ignore the fray. Or join in. Dancing, and firewater chugged from a clay pot. Serious firewater, really on fire. Alcohol set ablaze, it burns my tongue and lips, singes my beard. Then comes the vomit - and more dancing.

The serotonin tap has been left on, and I'm dry. My guide tells me it's okay, that it's normal. They've a phrase for it, he says, adato ehisdv. Soul pain? I shake my head - and even that hurts. Can not focus. Consciousness stretched like the frayed ropes of that rickety bridge from a couple days ago. A week ago? It's stretched taut from one corner of the universe to the other. Impossibly long, thought simply can not make the journey from one end to the other. There's a disconnect. Synapses broken. Like untethered cable, unwound, stretching out to space, strung out to space. I'm a bloody mess.

The pursuit of words and the pleasures they bring. The dreams come like I was told they would. Attention is short the first night due to cold shakes and mild fever, but the second night is clear. As clear as those dreams from childhood, and infinitely clearer than those non-dreams of adulthood. When did the dreams end and emptiness begin? Mid-twenties? Late-twenties, certainly. The dreams stopped, and in their place a dense void - a veritable black hole - squatted in the unconscious. Ingesting ingenuity. Consuming creativity. Snacking on my style. Something had to be done. Sometimes one has to go in and set things straight.

On the plane, ass planted comfortably in manmade luxury, head back, arms relaxed on the rests. A film of sugary gin clings to the inside of an empty glass on the tiny fold-out table ahead. Ice cubes slowly melting. Tucked in my head now, taking a little trip. A cloud of dust mushrooming out, expanding, like an unexplored universe. Clusters of sequoias standing around, their lives yawning, stretching, before me. Visiting an old friend. A flock of birds bursts from the branches ninety metres above and into the night sky. I'm with them now, one of the flock. Flying high, I see everything. I bloody well see it all. Every goddamn stone, every drop of water in the brook, every ant crawling on the ground - my eyes pick up every detail.

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